Trust Me Part Eight

[thebratqueen]

PART EIGHT

The table - one which had no hope of seating more than four people, was a chaos of food and dirty dishes by the time the Christmas meal was done. Wesley sat back, feeling fuller than he had in more time than he cared to think of, and wondered if he had room yet for the second piece of cake he felt certain Angel was going to foist upon him.

"More coffee?" Angel asked, getting up to fetch some from the kitchen.

"Yes, please," Wesley answered, feeling confident in his ability to drink a little more if nothing else. Truth be told he wouldn't have minded a glass of proper schnapps to ease the aching in his stomach, but he supposed a recovering alcoholic like Angel wouldn't have any handy. It was just as well, really. Schnapps reminded him of Germany, and nights spent in clubs which were probably best forgotten.

"I'll have some too," Connor called after him.

"You will not," Angel replied.

"Why not?" Connor asked.

"It'll stunt your growth," Angel told him. He returned to the table with the coffeepot, refilling Wesley's mug then pointing out the milk again in case Wesley had forgotten about it.

"I'm already taller than you, how much more can I grow?" Connor asked.

"Okay first off in your dreams," Angel said, refilling his own mug. "And second because I said so."

Connor frowned. "I didn't ask why."

"You were gonna," Angel grinned. He returned the pot back into the kitchen.

"It's not like I don't drink coffee at school anyway," Connor pointed out.

"It's not like I *have* to let you go see your friends later tonight," Angel retorted.

"Yeah you do," Connor said.

"Why?" Angel asked.

"'cause if you don't I've got this whole foot-stomping, loud music thing planned," Connor replied. "I've got new CDs and everything."

"Lemme guess," Angel said, sitting down again. "101 Songs to Drive Your Father Mad?"

"It's you," Connor said, "I only needed fifty."

Wesley watched the interplay between father and son and smiled to himself, hiding it behind his coffee cup. Any worries he'd had about his presence interfering with their evening had long since dissipated. They'd welcomed him in - Angel perhaps somewhat more warmly than Connor - and absorbed him into their routine. Which, Wesley had determined, was to have no routine. There'd been services in the morning, a large pancake breakfast for what had appeared to be as much of congregation of Angel's church which could manage to cram itself into the diner, and then Angel had closed up shop and retreated upstairs for the more private parts of the holiday.

Wesley hadn't known what to expect but it certainly wasn't this. An entire day of joking around, casual conversation, watching TV (with Connor, of all people, explaining the finer points of the American football game that had caught his attention), and then dinner.

Angel and Connor had done their own presents earlier, which Wesley suspected had been as much a courtesy to his low budget as it was to Angel and Connor having family time. The remains of boxes and gifts were scattered about, but amongst themselves there had been only a quick gift exchange. Connor had bought gloves. Angel a warm hat and coat that Wesley suspected cost far more than Angel would admit to. Alissa had received yet another new dress from Angel, and a soft toy rabbit from Connor that she had promptly gnawed on and soothed herself to sleep. Wesley had returned the favor with books, which had felt woefully inadequate even as he was buying them, but Connor had looked genuinely happy to receive a travel guide about unconventional things one could do while in England, and if Angel didn't actually like classic cars enough to want a book about them he was at least a master of pretending as though he did.

All in all it was nothing like he was used to. Which he supposed his clothes alone could attest to. He'd dressed for the day in the best shirt and trousers that he had - which wasn't much, admittedly. Angel and Connor for their part had worn proper clothes for church, but had changed out of them before Wesley arrived for dinner. They now wore faded jeans, and comfortable sweatshirts (Angel's bore a logo for the Tigers), and generally gave the impression that they felt no need for formality that day.

Wesley actually felt a bit out of his league. Pretentious parties he could handle. Dinner over mismatched plates and paper napkins with pictures of St. Nicolas on them required rules of courtesy that he couldn't even pretend to understand. Fortunately Angel had nothing but patience for him.

"And this is why I'm never letting you make the rolls again," Angel told Connor, drawing Wesley's attention back to the here and now. He realized he'd missed several laps in the conversation.

"This is censorship," Connor said. "You're stifling my creativity. You know *this* is why I almost failed art class."

"Hanging out with Tracy during third period is why you almost failed art class," Angel reminded him. "I'm old, Connor, not senile."

Connor smirked. "Actually - "

"Boys who want their daddies to be really nice to them this Christmas and extend their curfew should *not* finish their thought right now," Angel said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Connor clamped his mouth shut. Then asked, "You were going to extend my curfew?"

"I might," Angel said. He sat back in his chair, tilting it so that it rested on the two back legs. "If I was generous. If someone could fill my heart with the Christmas spirit. If *somebody*, I don't know who, could do *something* to inspire me and fill me with such joy that - "

"All right, all *right*," Connor said, getting up. "You know you could just *ask* me to clear the table."

"Yeah but where's the fun?" Angel replied.

"Here, let me help," Wesley said.

"Nah, sit," Angel waved him back down into his chair. "I had the kid for the slave labor. Let me enjoy it before he abandons me for college."

"Sadist," Connor said.

"Cur-few," Angel sing-songed back, the smile never leaving his lips.

"I don't see why Wesley couldn't give you the Christmas spirit or whatever," Connor complained. Then a look flickered over his face. "Actually, uh, nevermind."

"Yeah that was in no way awkward," Angel observed. He gave Wesley an apologetic look then helped Connor with the rest of the table-clearing.

***

Wesley busied himself checking on Alissa while Angel and Connor sorted out the remains of the meal. Finally some sort of agreement was reached with both a curfew that Connor apparently felt was generous *and* the use of Angel's car for the evening, and then Connor bundled himself up for the night and vanished with only a shout of good-bye.

Which left Angel and Wesley alone. Or as alone as two adults could be with a sleeping infant in the middle of the room.

"Coffee?" Angel said, once the silence stretched on past the breaking point.

"I'm fine, thank you," Wesley said. He stood up, brushing a stray piece of tinsel away from his trousers. "Perhaps I should - "

"I'll wash, you dry," Angel announced, and vanished into the kitchen before Wesley could dispute it.

"All right," Wesley said. He followed along and accepted the dishtowel when it was handed to him.

"When Connor was little we'd start everything on Christmas Eve," Angel said. He began to scrub down one of the pots that was floating in the soapy water. "He'd be dressed up in those jammies with the feet on them and we'd play Christmas music on the stereo and he and Darla would make cookies for Santa."

"What kind?" Wesley asked. He took the pot when it was done and began to dry it, hoping he was doing it correctly.

A fond smile touched Angel's lips. "Chocolate chip. Right out of a tube. I told you Darla wasn't much of a cook, right?"

"I believe you mentioned it," Wesley said.

"We'd have franks and beans for dinner," Angel said, "And some of the cookies for dessert. And sometimes Connor would get these ideas in his head. Like one year it was really cold and he got all worried about the reindeer, so he made me heat up vegetables for them so they could warm up at our house."

"That's very charming," Wesley said.

Angel swiped a sponge over one of the plates. "He was five. I had to tell him Santa and the reindeer came in through the window since we don't have a fireplace."

"We had plenty of fireplaces when I was growing up," Wesley said. He hoped it didn't sound like bragging. "They were always lit during winter. Perhaps that's why we never had such visits."

"Didn't come around much when I was a kid either," Angel said. He began to fish out glasses and wipe them down. "My folks weren't into that I guess. But Darla and I wanted to do it for Connor. We figured it was a parenting thing."

"I'm not sure yet what I'll do with Alissa," Wesley admitted. He studied the plate he was drying before putting it onto the counter. "I haven't given it much thought."

"Can be fun," Angel said. "At our first place we lived right above Carmella Petrezzi. Great lady. Taught Darla how to make this phenomenal sausage and peppers, not that Darla ever got it right. Anyway, she grew up in Italy and she was nuts about Connor, so as it got late she'd call him on the phone and tell him she just heard from her family that Santa had stopped by and was heading for America."

"Quite a long trip," Wesley said.

"Not like he knew," Angel grinned. "It got him into bed, anyway. He'd bounce off the walls in there for maybe twenty minutes and then pass out. Which was good. Gave us more time to sleep since he always woke us up by 5:30 in the morning."

"It's very obvious how much you care for him," Wesley said. He twisted part of his towel into a glass, trying not to shatter it as he dried. "Even one meeting him could tell that he grew up loved, with parents who were proud of him. He's a very happy, confident young man."

"Young man," Angel shook his head. "Still getting used to that. Next year he won't be here anymore. And I know Christmas is going to be these quick glimpses as he runs out the door to go hang with his friends. He'll be leading his own life."

"He'll still need his father," Wesley assured him. "All boys do. Even those of us who might not have particularly cared for our own."

"Ain't that the truth?" Angel said. "Some days I still get pissed off at my dad for - well it's not important now. All I hope is that Connor's got a better relationship with me than I had with my old man. If I managed that, I guess I did okay."

"I'm only an outsider," Wesley said, "but I daresay you were successful."

"Hope so," Angel said. He finished off the last glass then turned the water on to rinse the soap bubbles away. "So I was thinking about kissing you again."

Wesley's hand froze as it moved the towel up and down the glass he was holding. "Pardon?"

Angel washed his own hands, then turned the water off. "I was thinking about kissing you again."

Wesley wondered what to say to this. He put the glass down carefully. "*Again* as in this has oncemore occupied your thoughts, or again as in - "

"I want to do it," Angel said. "Again."

Wesley thought about it. The room felt very silent, and cold. He shivered, feeling as though a breeze had just blown over him, or as though he'd just been haunted by a memory. "One could point out that you never did it the first time."

Angel took him by the arms and hauled him over, wetting the back of Wesley's trousers with the puddles that had formed on the countertop. Angel was in front of him then, his brown eyes dark and full of meaning. And then their lips came together in a strong and hungry kiss that made Wesley's body surge up, right into Angel's embrace, and suddenly *ache* as though he'd finally found what he'd been searching for in all the years of stupid, wasteful sexual encounters. One frog right after another, until now, until *this*.

"So I was thinking," Angel said, when he finally drew their lips apart, "about kissing you again."

Wesley's eyes were half-closed as he tried to catch his breath. "I - yes. *Yes*."

Slower this time. Warm and wet, with an experience Wesley never would have guessed for the other man, considering his many years of domestic monogamy. But there it was. Soft lips. Nips of teeth. A probing tongue that made Wesley's heart flutter in a dizzying beat.

Angel pulled back again. This time his eyes were concerned, clearly wondering if things were still all right between them.

It was possibly stupid, but Wesley couldn't resist.

"I was thinking," Wesley told him, "that I'd like you to fuck me again."

Angel paused, then his mouth curled into a bone-melting half smile. "One could point out that I never fucked you the first time."

"I'd really like you to correct that," Wesley assured him.

Angel laughed, then kissed him once more. "Come on. Connor won't be home for hours."

"I - " Wesley hesitated. "I think my flat would be best, don't you?"

Angel thought about it. "My bedroom's closer."

"Mine has the baby's room," Wesley reminded him.

Angel glanced in at Alissa. "She's still asleep."

"I could put her in her crib where she could remain so," Wesley said.

"She's fine now," Angel replied.

"She'll be more likely to *stay* that way," Wesley pointed out. "And to stay in her room. Unlike *your* child who's far more aware of his surroundings and might think to invite some of his friends home if his curfew is earlier than any of theirs."

"We'll use your place," Angel said.

"So glad we agree," Wesley said. He forced himself to let go of Angel's hand so he could gather up his daughter. As he did her very presence reminded him of something. "Angel?"

"Yeah?" Angel said, as he unplugged the lights to the Christmas tree.

Wesley lifted Alissa's carrier, hoping the sight of her would help prompt Angel into memory. "I don't have anything."

Angel stared at him, his expression blank. "Any…?"

"Supplies," Wesley said.

Angel frowned. "You're out of diapers?"

Wesley sighed. "More *adult* supplies. Angel, it's been months since - "

"*Oh*," Angel said, realization dawning. "You meant - oh. Oh. Um. Okay. I … okay, foresight would have actually been helpful with this."

"There's other things we could do," Wesley offered. "It's only that considering what I did before my time with Lilah I couldn't in good conscience - "

"No, no, I get it," Angel said. "And it's appreciated. I wouldn't - not that I was a Lilah guy myself these past few years but no. I wouldn't. To you either I mean. I'm into supplies, honest."

"You just don't have any," Wesley guessed, surprised at how much regret he felt at the possibility of waiting. Yes, there *were* other things they could do but somehow he knew they couldn't possibly match the feeling of the other man inside of him - or vice versa.

Angel ran a hand through his hair, chewing his lower lip as he thought out the problem. "I wouldn't say that."

"Angel, if they're too old…" Wesley reminded him.

Angel nodded to himself as though deciding something. "Go upstairs, I'll meet you in five, and I can get something if you don't care where it came from."

"At this point I can't say it's a concern," Wesley told him.

Angel closed the distance between them, kissing him once more. "Good. Great. I'll be right there."

***

Five minutes later, with Alissa safely tucked into her crib, Angel appeared at his doorway, just as he'd promised.

"That kid *really* needs to update his porn supply," Angel announced.

Wesley noted the handful of condoms in Angel's left hand. "He's also rather optimistic. Or is that his father?"

Angel gave him a look. "I wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon. You got a problem with that?"

Wesley became keenly aware of how much his body responded to Angel's presence. "No. I can't say that I do."

"Good," Angel said, and this time when they kissed Angel didn't bother to stop.

***

It had been so long since he'd had sex. A record, in fact, considering the average he'd maintained during his years of rebellion.

But nothing since Alissa was born. Very little, in fact, since he'd learned of Lilah being pregnant. He'd had a tiny handful of encounters once he'd been told, all to try to prove to himself or her how unaffected he was by the threat of fatherhood, and then nothing. Months upon months of nothing, because he couldn't stand being around people anymore.

Now there was Angel.

Angel, who on paper was everything Wesley should have avoided - poor, alcoholic, uneducated, American, *male* - but in reality was turning into everything Wesley could imagine desiring. He was handsome, well-built, confident, strong, *noble* and, Wesley dared to hope, a friend.

They tumbled into bed together, Angel's hands making quick work of Wesley's clothes. He smiled, apparently startled by the discovery that Wesley had chest hair, then teased them both by running his fingers through it, tugging on it, then eventually bending his lips down to lick and suck at Wesley's nipples.

Wesley for his part tried to respond in kind, getting a shock of his own to find that Angel had a tattoo, then quickly finding out that Angel liked to be kissed on it - or perhaps just enjoyed the kisses as a lovely side-dish to the tickling touch of Wesley's hand between his legs.

They touched, and kissed, and traded turns being on top and down below. Angel was the first to break the barrier of doing oral, but Wesley quickly followed it with a blowjob of his own that had the other man gasping and straining against the sheets.

They held off coming, two adults teasing one another to the full limits of their age and willpower, until they lay side by side, hands stroking one another, pace quickening by silent yet mutual decision, and then their eyes met, Angel's with a question, Wesley with a nod of confirmation, and then it was condoms, and lubrication, and Wesley's turn to tense and grab at the bedclothes and gasp again and again and again until the feeling of Angel deep inside of him made him lose all control.

Angel cried out not long after, his hands hard enough on Wesley's hip to feel as though they might leave bruises, and then they both collapsed, sated, and fell into easy sleep.

***

It was dark when Wesley woke up. He didn't know what time it was. Somehow his bedside clock had gotten hidden or knocked to the floor. What he *did* know, however, was that he was alone.

He tried, unsuccessfully, not to be disappointed by this.

It was foolish. Stupid. After all that he'd done, all that he'd been through, what *right* had he to expect anything else? Particularly considering who and what he was.

Lord, how arrogant! To sit there and think that Angel wasn't good enough for him. It was quite the other way in reverse and there was no doubt about it. What was Wesley to a man like that? A man who lived by his own blood, sweat, and tears. Who'd had to struggle for every advantage in his life - who'd *earned* what tiny advantages he'd had to keep. Who looked upon others with no judgment, and sacrificed his very self to help those in need.

Compared to that who was Wesley? A stuffed shirt with skills that didn't extend past an office building. A fancy education with no worth to show.

Wesley shook his head. No worth. Indeed, that was the phrasing for it. Penniless, *worthless*. A true shell of a man and no doubt about it. One who hadn't a single thing to show for himself, with only a single exception: his daughter.

Wesley got up, tugging on a pair of pants and slipping his feet into shoes. Alissa would be awake soon. He would hold her, feed her, then wonder how to deal with the difficulty of facing Angel come morning. Could they ignore what they had done? Did Angel plan to? What on earth *had* this been in the other man's eyes? For if it was only a casual sexual encounter then -

"Morning," Angel whispered to him as he came back into the bedroom. He held Alissa cradled in his arms. "Or night. Guess it depends on how you look at it."

Wesley gaped. Then tried to talk. "I - what?"

"She was fussing," Angel explained. He sat down on the bed, handing the baby over to him. "I figured I'd take a look at her, make sure she was okay."

Wesley held her close, feeling her tender skin against his own. "I - she does that sometimes. Nightmares, I think."

Angel reached out and patted her on the back. "That can be scary when you're small. Bet they don't even understand what nightmares are at that age."

"Probably not," Wesley agreed. He felt as though he'd missed something, as though he didn't know which way to turn.

Angel, apparently unaware of all this, suddenly smiled at him. "Hey, you wanna see something neat?"

"All right," Wesley said, deciding he could figure this out if he stayed with Angel. Whatever it was he needed to know he could piece together if he remained with the other man.

"You'll have to put her down," Angel warned.

Wesley checked on her. "She's sleeping again. I think she'll be all right if I let her rest."

"Okay," Angel said, standing up again. "You do that, then meet me in the living room."

Wesley obeyed, feeling as though he were sleepwalking the entire time. He held Alissa probably longer than he needed to, comforting himself with the feel of her fist wrapped around his thumb. He kissed her, and reminded himself once more that if there was one thing which was constant, one thing which was important, it was this.

He put her down then went into the livingroom as asked.

Angel was there, dressed in his own jeans and shoes. He stood by the window, which was wide open. "Come on."

Wesley stared at him. "Come where?"

"Outside," Angel said, holding out his hand.

Wesley looked from him to the window and back again. "Are you utterly insane?"

Angel grinned, grabbed his hand, and dragged him outside.

They were on top of the garage, the flat roof still covered with snow from the storms and squalls that had plagued the past few weeks. Wesley's feet crunched down, getting his calves wet in the process. "Angel, it's freezing!"

"It's *snowing*," Angel countered. And, sure enough, flakes were falling down from the reflected light of the night sky.

Wesley shivered, trying to wrap his arms around himself for warmth. "All right, I've seen it. Can't we - "

Angel pulled him closer, looking into his eyes. "Don't you get it? It's snowing. On *Christmas*, Wes. Christmas snow. Doesn't that make you feel *right*? *Alive* or something?"

Wesley looked back at him. Intellectually he knew it was past midnight, and therefore not truly Christmas anymore. But Angel's face was as bright as the sky, and there was a joy inside of him that was almost childlike.

Wesley knew, then, that he was falling in love with him.

"Yes," he answered, trembling now from something far worse than cold. "Yes. It does."

"It's perfect," Angel said, smiling in spite of the white flakes that dusted his long eyelashes. "Best snow of the year."

"Quite wonderful," Wesley agreed, then dared to let himself hold Angel tight.